Just LOTR in poetry format
by Daedalus Plum
Summary: just lotr in poetry format


A gift has come to me at last,  
Beyond my hopes, it seems,  
As lying in the embers, lo,  
Tidings of its greatness gleams.  
Passing through the door at last,  
Aged not within the years,  
The stories of its wretched past  
Falls dead upon my ears.  
I know the death which lies within,  
The circled golden Shadow,  
And yet my fears can not equate,  
To see far into the gallows,  
That loom within my future, surely  
In possession of such a thing;  
For but death inspires the will,  
Of the One, the Bane, the Ring.  
And damn Isildur, too wrought with greed,  
To cast it in Mount Doom?s fire  
And bless his heir, bless his seed,  
King Aragorn, the sire.  
Who fought against greedy men,  
Of ages long before  
Who wore upon their hand and breast,  
The rings long lost in lore.  
But late was the coming  
Of torch, sword, fire,  
And the wound now long seized,  
The young sir of the Shire.  
And the dark gripped the master,  
And all hope was lost,  
Writhing in pain,  
By the piercing as cost.  
But young Elven fair,  
Bares him on her steed,  
And crosses the river,  
Taking wrath out of need.  
And to a friendly place he's waken,  
In the morning sunlight's cast,  
To be among his kin again,  
In Rivendell! At last!  
  
I feel it heavy in my chest,  
Within my pocket,  
At its rest.  
And stand before the stony square,  
And fight to put the ring down there.  
And while the desire within rebels,  
My will, my strength, at last prevails,  
And I place it on the stony flat,  
And feel a relief as my hand draws back.  
And all around lean forth to see,  
The burden, at last, gone from me.  
And words pour out of Man who says,  
"It is a gift," at thoughts in his head.  
And all around think above their dread.  
Of bearing the ring on their own hand.  
And but a few's dread prevails,  
And wisdom comes to tell the tale.  
But now there comes the task at hand,  
Who shall take the Ring? And all do stand  
And deem their right to bear its will,  
But I, looking, at it still,  
To see it smile at the fight  
To feel it growing in the spite.  
At last, I stand and take the Thing,  
And come at last to bear the Ring.  
And the Men, Elves, all stand by my side,  
Hoping to have the Ring in time,  
But throwing such thoughts at once away,  
And bid to help me find my way.  
And about my neck, the chain is bound,  
And we take off from Rivendell.  
The Fellowship, so cold, so somber,  
To face the dread of Mount Doom's ember!  
  
The Fellowship, departs at last,  
And comes upon the rocky pass.  
And at first there seems among them peace,  
As they sit together, all at ease.  
And friendships form, among the mass  
Though thoughts of Treasure, do not pass.  
And while the Halfling does not say,  
Of the burden which starts to weigh,  
They see it stony, 'bout his neck,  
His hand so constant; reach and check.  
But no one says the thoughts that seethe,  
Within their minds, the pains still reeks  
Havoc on their trouble hearts,  
As they think of their dreadful part  
Fulfilled to but reach out their hand  
And wield their terror on the Land.  
But they smile, happy, at each other,  
While hoping that their greed will smother.  
And then the birds flock overhead,  
And the rocky pass, becomes their dread,  
For now the eye is upon,  
Their every play, action. Pawns  
Within his evil plan,  
For but him to move 'bout with his hand.  
And so the wisest comes to say,  
The Pass of Caradhras, 'less death does sway.  
  
Scaling up the moutainside,  
Faced against the wind.  
They struggle 'gainst the blowing tide,  
But at the top, what then?  
And as they all climb all the higher,  
The stronger weather hits,  
And blown back by the deathly air,  
A chance It will not miss.  
And It slips off from 'bout  
The Halfling's neck,  
And lands upon the snow.  
And gleams up at the stronger ones,  
With It's deceptive glow.  
And he looks at he who reaches out,  
And takes it in his hand.  
And knows for sure the end has come  
As it is held by Man.  
But swelling within his lovely heart  
He's forced to act out rash,  
And lunges out at the Man,  
To take his Only back.  
And they journey up the mountain side,  
Continue to fight the wind.  
But they all still think of the dreadful scene,  
And when Man will be them.  
But they never know,  
For in that time,  
There reaches through Elven ears,  
A fell voice upon the air,  
Whom now all and he hears.  
And the wisest of the lot of them,  
Warns them of the plan,  
And soon the snow comes crashing down,  
To bury beneath it's hand.  
And they know that this way to,  
Is one they must not tread.  
And so the Halfling tells to all,  
'To Moria where we head!'  
  
And so we come,  
To lands of old,  
Where little life,  
There's to behold.  
And we sit around a glowing script,  
Above the door,  
Into the crypt.  
And wait while Wisest sits and thinks  
What now is the next link  
To unlock the door and speak  
The answer until in we creak.  
And as he ponders our entrance way,  
The Halfling bearer comes to say  
'Tis a riddle, now lead the way!'  
And the wisest speaks the password then,  
And the Fellowship creeps on in,  
On top of bones, on top of others,  
Upon the stone floor, and covers  
All the way on through the caves,  
As though not a life's been saved.  
And they turn around to enter not,  
And find their pathway, hence now blocked,  
By a monster, grabbing the Halfling, thus  
They are forced to fight, they must.  
And while the Monster flails and fights,  
They find the caves their way of flight,  
And now no option can they make,  
And venture further through, and stake  
Upon their venture all their will,  
All their hope, and yet still,  
Dream about the small one's neck,  
Another path they can't forget.  
But journey further through the mines,  
And find the tomb of dweller Dwarf's kind.  
And enter, but find a great mistake,  
In a small one's causing quake.  
And here about them orcish cry,  
And prepare to battle, as Man does cry,  
'We're doomed, I see it out there, way  
Behind them they bring a monster chained!'  
And they all prepare to fight,  
Or in the battle, fall and die.  
And in come orcs. And monster, too,  
And while many orcs they slew,  
There remains the Halfling, chased by beast,  
And as he slays him, they are pleased,  
Though they cry in their despair,  
To see the Halfling falling there,  
And all do now come and spring in fight,  
Taking down the massive might,  
And yet there friend lays pierced to die.  
And the Faithful still let out their cry,  
To find him living, still, at last,  
And others find their hopes to pass,  
Replaced by something fresh, and deemed,  
The true task of their lives, it seems.  
Not to bear the ring, but too,  
Defend endless, and to rue  
Each thought they have to wear the thing,  
And use the power of the Ring.  
And they carry on, now, now through the maze,  
Of pillars wrought on through the caves,  
Until they hear, and draw to sight,  
A scene but good within the light,  
And stand surrounded, until relief, they say,  
Comes to bear them, give them way.  
But the wisest is felt with dread,  
And knows worse things now lie ahead.  
And they dash ahead, now in a haze  
Born by want to leave the caves.  
And all around them arrows fall,  
As orcs shoot at them from the walls.  
And now to stairs they come in flight,  
And find they must not stop to fight,  
As stone does topple,  
And staircase falls,  
And they hurry on by but the call,  
Of their duty, of the mind,  
Right now in their desperate time.  
But when they reach their safety last,  
The worst has still now yet to pass.  
And the one who has thus led the way,  
Turns around to demon, stays  
Upon the bridge, where he's to cross,  
And says to him, 'You shall not pass!'  
And strikes his staff against the stone,  
And conquers the beast, on his own.  
And as he turns on to them at last.  
He fills a whip fall on his back,  
And is dragged below into the Hell,  
Where this creature below him dwells.  
And all above cry at his rules,  
Yelling to them, 'Fly! You fools!'  
And as they run out into light,  
And escape from the raging fight,  
That stagger out onto the land,  
And fall on knees, unable to stand.  
But the Strongest calls them on.  
'To Gondor, now! To Gondor! On!'  
  
On the river,  
Long and wide,  
Sailing with the water's tide,  
And 'round the bend  
They gasp in pride  
To see great Men  
No lost in time.  
Standing tall against the wind,  
Calling arms of foe and friend.  
And where the river to falls departs,  
They cross to shore and follow chart  
On through the rocky lands below,  
On through the swamps and forests 'lo.  
But making camp with plans thus made,  
The Halfling recalls Isildur's bane,  
Strapped heavily about his neck,  
Wrenching there, and forcing checks.  
And he feels its will now hit its peak,  
To loosen 'bout his neck and sneak  
Into the hands of Man, and thus,  
Bring down the world to shadow, dust.  
And Man comes close, with wild eyes,  
And begs of him for but a try  
Of bending will of Ring there way,  
But how he will he can not say.  
And then he tries to take the Ring,  
And the Halfling then puts on the Thing,  
To escape his grasp, but's nearer to  
The Eye that he has come to rue  
In haunting sleep, and breaking day  
By sinking sun in clouds thick way.  
And he's safe from Man, but new foes find,  
There camp, his friends, his own Allis.  
And so he runs, knowing that  
He must escape the fierce combat.  
And Man wakes from the Rings set trance  
To find foes thick about the land.  
He sees the small, and draws his sword,  
And let's loose his desperate, failing horn.  
And fights to save the small ones still,  
As he is struck, to deathly chill.  
And falls to ground, upon his knees,  
Small ones taken by the beasts.  
And feels his own life drift away,  
And pride can hence no longer stay.  
And he knows the Ring has brought his fall,  
And the small ones taken despite all  
His efforts, fighting, dying to  
To save them from these beasts, who  
Will take them as a gift to He  
Who the Fellowship must now defeat.  
And the Strongest comes upon the scene,  
And find his friend  
sink from his knees,  
Onto the Ground, and knows at last,  
The Fellowship has failed its task.  
  
They look out at the lonely form,  
Now sailing with the wind  
And sing a song to the Man  
To wish more life to him.  
And they turn back from the fighters grave  
Set out upon the waters  
And wonder if he'll make his way  
To the land, the home of his father's.  
But now set out on their minor quest  
So noble in its way.  
For though the world to them is doomed,  
They have the small ones left to save.  
So the Strongest finds their hidden trail  
Amongst the Orcish path.  
And both the Fair and Stout of Heart  
Follow him 'cross the land.  
And know before the task is done  
They shall lend both bow and axe.  
And they set off,  
Without a hope  
To scale the mountains high  
And pray for but the smallest ones  
That they might still be alive.  
  
The small swords cut  
Through tidal wave  
Of fiendish drive  
And still they slay  
The foe as best they can  
Whether severing foot, or only hand.  
But even in with these minor wounds  
They grab the small ones, and further choose  
To take them breathing cross the plains  
And through the woods, and all the same,  
To bring them to the ?saken land,  
Of death and lifeless, all but bland.  
To Mordor, they set the path  
And know they?ll make, for but a chance.  
And chance there is, for in their start,  
The small ones still do not lose heart.  
And the Youngest tears from ?bout his breast  
The treasured leaves that were the clasp.  
And he bids them off,  
With but a prayer  
That the Three shall find them there.  
  
The Halfling trails behind his Friend  
A wound now growing, to never mend  
Upon his chest, within his mind  
A desire never left behind.  
And a voice now follows, him and Friend  
Trailing them with whispered whims,  
'It is mine! They stole it from us!'  
In his desperate, gasping, feared chorus  
Of thoughts within his twisted mind  
Brought by scarring, twisting time  
With bearing the unscrupulous Thing.  
The ever warping, maddened Ring.  
And they travel over hill and stream,  
In a quickly, ever-ending dream,  
As over hillside, and grasses here  
They see looming Mount Doom's drear.  
But a fog soon blankets them about  
And down is now their only way out.  
And so Halfling drops down the cliff  
And feels the Ring-wraith's icy grip.  
And feels a tap at his shoulder  
And no longer feels quite the colder.  
And climbs the elven rope on up  
Until he's with his Friend on top.  
And when fog breaks and day dawns again  
The travel down the cliffside's end.  
And reach the bottom of the face  
And call the rope back from its place.  
And know that It can not follow  
Down the hillside, to the hollow.  
Until the night when they see,  
The ghastly Creature down mountain creep.  
And feel him drawing ever near,  
The Halfling now gripped with fear.  
But not for him, or Friend, but Thing,  
It will try to take his precious Ring.  
But they know that running will not succeed.  
They must capture him with the Thing.  
So they lie in wait, until, at last,  
They time has come to spring their trap.  
And they capture now the dreadful Him  
And tie him up onto a limb.  
And he pleads and cries with rope about  
His neck until at last he's out.  
To lead the way to Black Gate,  
And thus determine Master's fate.  
  
The footsteps drear more the on  
As they pass on through the open dawn.  
And pray that those they must now trace  
Do not wander in the day.  
But, alas, it is not so,  
And they forever on and slow.  
But the Strongest finds the fallen leaves  
And takes heart in discovery.  
For small ones might yet still live  
And have some life still left to give.  
And so they carry on their wretched way  
And find a coming by the day,  
Surprising to all them alike  
And Man comes up to them in stride.  
And's greeted by the tips of spears  
And wonder at these new found fears.  
And the Riders look down on the lot  
And talk of death, and further plot  
To kill them all, and thus resume  
Their path of killing, and only doom.  
But arrow points to Riders throat,  
And Elf now finds an end to gloat  
Of Rider and thus stop delay.  
And let them continue on their way.  
But Strongest points his arrow down,  
So harmlessly aimed onto the ground,  
And tells them bits of their own tale  
And hopes that kindness will prevail.  
But he hears instead of terrible end  
That has come onto his small friends.  
The small ones it seems, are dead at last,  
As the Riders over, passed.  
And the disheartened Rider calls away  
From the pack, to help them stray  
Further through the troubled lands  
Horses to help them, as they can.  
And so they mount, and ride on, to  
The place where small ones met their doom.  
  
They feel their feet now dragging slow,  
But dare not stop to rest, or woe  
Shall be their troubled ends  
Without a fight, or some defense.  
And the drink burns fiery in their veins  
And they long to sit down and cut their reigns  
But continue to wander on, they know  
That to death is what would come their slow.  
But at last they stop their painful march  
And lay back, dreaming of their part  
From the awful horde of viscous beasts,  
And they hear of desired feast  
As the orcs now battle among each other  
And fight for not bread, or greens, or water  
But for meat that they might feed  
And find the strength, not from mere leaves.  
But the others know the given commands  
And refuse to let the others lay hands,  
On the small ones, but just in case,  
They leave the small ones their due space.  
So they now find chance to come together,  
And tell their plans to one another.  
When they hear the sound of fight  
And hope that now they may take flight.  
And Smallest now holds up his chains,  
Severed from his bloody hands.  
And helps the other one break free  
To aid them in their drastic flee.  
And as they begin to crawl away  
They feel that something's in their way.  
And the massive Orc now grabs their feet,  
And paws at them so desperately  
For hope of finding something there  
And they know it, gripped with fear.  
And as he snarls for to the night  
He is found by those who fight  
And with a whisper through the air,  
An arrow finds him lying there.  
And small ones find their way on to  
A place that they might sit and chew  
On thoughts that wandered through their minds  
During the awful, dragging times.  
And they eat their Elven bread for strength  
And find it at some costly length.  
And now they begin to walk on toward  
The looming, dooming, dark Fangorn. 


End file.
